My Battle Cry
by redhead evans
Summary: Bellatrix's trial after the war. When her name is called she will always step forward.


It has been only a month since It happened. For me it is a lifetime. The day will be universally known in the future as the day Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord and started the great Death Eater trials. Day after day more and more of us have been captured and thrown into Azkaban without so much as a by your leave. I suspect this is because we would put up too much of a fight. It doesn't really matter if we were to struggle anyway.

Death Eaters are a resilient bunch by nature, you have to be. Every man's ambition causes another man to fall and only those at the top of the ladder get knocked off as the rungs get smaller and smaller. And when you make it to the top you answer straight to Voldemort. You spend your whole life hoping that today isn't your last, that you won't fail him, that he won't kill you. The fates are almost never on your side.

I knew at my first trial that I was going down a slowly spiraling path into oblivion that I couldn't get myself out of. Only one person had that power and I hoped to God that he would come for me while hoping that he would just leave me alone. He came for me.

Now I am about to go on trial for numerous crimes I have committed, one of them going down swinging. I have spent years of imprisonment knowing that outside the walls people were telling their children not to stay out late for fear of me, my name was being whispered in the purest of circles half awe at my audacity and half fear and terror. In the darker circles it was near reverence. I am proud of my name, of its notoriety, and when my name is called I will always step forward. No matter what it brings me into, I will always go, prepared for anything.

"I now call the trial of Bellatrix Lestrange to order. Bring in the prisoner."

I can hear my trial going on through the stone walls.

A clerk starts to read my crimes but I drown him out after the first several.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, charged with seventy two counts of…"

This is me. This is my moment. This is my battle cry.

I step forward.

The crowd starts whispering madly the very minute I draw attention to myself. I glare at them with an attitude that does not match my beaten and time-worn face, the face that spent so many years being ravaged by sorrows only Azkaban could know. I do know that my remaining defiance, my pride at who I am, shines through my eyes 'Azkaban eyes' they call them. They are no longer characteristically lifeless. My efforts are ruined somewhat by the chains connecting my ankles to my wrist to my neck. I am only barely allowed enough chain to stand straight and proud and can only shuffle forward accompanied by loud clanking. It is all I have for a fanfare so I relish it.

I didn't really care what happened through the rest of the trial, I knew the routine by heart. This time, I knew, the only difference would be my sentence: death. I could live with that.

It was to be a mass exodus, so to speak. All of the Death Eaters convicted by the end of the day would be sent through the veil of death, the same veil that I sent my cousin into only a few years ago. I would have thought that they would do the executions separately to allow more opportunity to gloat but perhaps that is the killer in me, the cold, heartless bitch that I so carefully cultivated. Either way, I was last in line; a triumphant end to any day. We were made to watch as people were pushed through before us; no one accepted their fate. To a man they were all wither unconscious or dragged kicking and screaming. Old habits die hard.

"Any last words?" a pompous ministry official asked me, sounding like he didn't care whether I did or not. I surveyed the room with a sneer, considering going out with a bang as I had my first time through trial. I decided I was too old for such childish joys, instead I settled on the maniacal laughter that shows on my wanted poster: the flash of a bulb and the crazy laughing woman revealed and put on display. As a group the people start shifting nervously, I figure that they think I have one last thing up my sleeve. IF only I did.

"Bellatrix Black Lestrange," the man said, sweeping his arm towards the veil as men stand behind me ready to push me forward. I know what I am supposed to do.

I take a deep breath and one last look around the room, the harsh whispers and murmurs echoing around the antechamber.

This is me. This is my moment. This is my battle cry.

I step forward.

The whispers die.


End file.
